Shards
by gingergen
Summary: Surrounded by humans, darkspawn, and dragons, what's an elf to do? Besides get angry, of course... Snapshots from Origins, city elf origin. Kallian/Zevran with some wibbles over Alistair. This is a back burner story; updates will be slow.
1. Chapter 1

"If you don't stop staring at my ass, right now, the darkspawn and the Joining are going to be the least of your worries," she snarled at Davath, whipping the point her sword up to his throat. They'd been out of camp for less than 40 minutes, and she was ready to skewer someone. Anyone would do, but Davath was first in line.

It was possibly the most uncomfortable day she'd spent in her entire short life. It wasn't encountering her first darkspawn that had pushed it over the edge; it was being out alone in the woods with these blasted shem. Darkspawn were frightening, but she'd seen the corpses at camp and been told what to expect from them - vicious, brutal attack, no holds barred. Attack could be countered. Darkspawn were strong, they were gruesome, but they died if you stabbed them enough and they weren't too hard to predict.

The shemlen were another matter.

Davath had spluttered, first a denial, then - at Alistair's frown - an apology. After that he'd at least pretended not to look, though she knew the archer had plenty of opportunity to do what he pleased as he walked along at the back of the group. He made her skin crawl. She'd seen him at camp, leering at every female in visible range, spinning smug tales about his exploits as a city cutpurse to anyone who would listen. He hadn't been able to open a single locked chest that they'd encountered so far, though, which confirmed her suspicions that he was less than he claimed. What Duncan had seen in him worth recruiting she had no idea, though she couldn't deny he was fast and handled his bow well enough (but why should a Denerim thief know anything about archery?). The only thing that would have made Davath harder on her nerves would have been noble status; at least he didn't try to order her about like a servant.

Ser Jory, on the other hand, had plenty of attitude but was probably only stupid. He seemed far too caught up in honor and his own romanticized heroism to bother much with Kallian. He was in for a rude awakening, she figured, but there was no reason it had to be at her hand. So far he had left her well enough alone; if that was largely because of human snobbery, fine. Ignoring her was better than the alternative. His superiority was none of her concern so long as he killed his share of darkspawn and kept his hands and eyes to himself. She'd prefer it if he kept his whining to himself, too, but some things were apparently too much to ask.

That left Alistair, and she didn't know what to make of him at all. He was a warrior and an ex-Templar with the muscles to match, which was enough to make her edgy all by itself. Unlike Ser Jory, he didn't seem the least bit put off by the fact that she was an elf, which ought to have been pleasing but somehow just made her that much more uncomfortable. He didn't leer like Davath, but he _noticed _her. He hadn't done anything bad – yet – but she'd have felt a lot better if he'd simply pretended she wasn't there.

On the other hand... Alistair would open his mouth and the most ridiculous things would pop out. He almost reminded her of – but no. She wasn't thinking about home, not right now. But she couldn't help but notice that everyone she'd met so far with the exception of the king himself - and who was she to be meeting the king? but that was a separate issue - had been unfailingly serious, even dour. Alistair's cheerful chatter was like a breath of fresh air.

But he was still a shem, and she didn't know what to expect from the way he watched her. It might have been as innocent as curiosity about a new recruit, but… it might not. Attention from shemlen always spelled trouble in Kallian's experience. So she tried not to find him funny, and definitely not to engage him in conversation on any topic other than the Gray Warden order. If only he had been female, perhaps she might have been able to overlook the fact that he was human.

Curse all of them anyway. She shouldn't even be here.

* * *

Horrifying was really the only appropriate word to describe the Joining ritual, Kallian decided. There were no enemies to fight, no action to take - they had _only _to willingly drink blood and lyrium as ritual words were spoken, knowing that the mixture was poison. There was nothing she could do to improve her chances of survival. The feeling of helplessness, of inevitability, made it even worse than the trip through the swamp.

A stab of guilt mingled with Kallian's rising panic as she watched both of her fellow recruits fail the final test. She hadn't liked them, but no one deserved _this_. Davath stepped up with surprising bravery to drink from the chalice, but choked on the blood, his suddenly white and sightless eyes rolling up as he collapsed. He was dead almost instantly. Worse, neither Duncan nor Alistair seemed surprised. Duncan merely murmured a ritual-sounding, "I am sorry, Davath," and carried the cup toward Ser Jory.

The knight had his rude awakening at last. They were past the point of turning back. When Jory refused the chalice, Duncan took up his sword and ran him through. "I am sorry, Jory," he said. There was no time to do more than gasp before Duncan set down his blade to once again take up the Joining cup. He carried it to Kallian; it was her own turn to drink.

It was all she could do not to spill it. Her hands were shaking wildly and she could hardly breathe. But she didn't drop it, and she did drink. The blood burned like acid all the way down her throat. Her body stiffened out of her control, and she couldn't see. After what felt like hours of writhing agony and nightmare, she awoke to see Duncan and Alistair hovering over her. She'd survived the Joining.

They welcomed her officially as a Grey Warden, and Duncan hauled her to her feet. The world tilted and she almost fell. She was sure she'd have gone down if Alistair's sudden grip on her arm hadn't steadied her. Once she stopped wobbling, he patted her back awkwardly and let go. Duncan was speaking; she caught only that the King's council meeting was already in progress, and she was expected to attend. She could have a moment to get herself together, he said, but it was important that she get there as soon as she was able.

Kallian nodded, swallowing. She managed to wait until he'd turned his back and started away before running to the balcony rail to be painfully and thoroughly sick.


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke to the cry of some strange bird. Greenish-gold light filtered in through a high window. Kallian blinked. She was in a bed - an unfamiliar bed - and her whole body buzzed with a tingling ache. She sat up slowly, then gave a gasp when she found the dark haired Wilds woman standing over her.

As the witch's words filtered their way into her brain, Kallian realized that her life had changed again. For the second time in a sevenday, everything she knew had been swept out from under her feet, leaving her no idea what was to come next. Still partly in shock from the first time, Kallian mentally shrugged. Best to get on with it, she told herself, and climbed out of the bed and into what was left of her clothing.

She quietly pulled the cottage door shut behind her. Alistair stood on the edge of a foul-smelling swamp pond, looking sightlessly into the distance. His clothes hadn't fared much better than hers; long, poorly mended slashes in his shirt and the frayed wreck of one sleeve showed that he must also have been badly injured. His hair stood out every which way, as if he'd been tugging on it, and as she stepped closer she could see the tracks of tears on his cheeks.

She stood and looked at him for a moment. For him, this loss was sudden and completely unexpected. The man he'd looked to as a father, his brothers in arms - all of them suddenly gone. Unlike Kallian, Alistair had wanted to be a Warden. He had lived, eaten, slept, and worked with the Order for long enough that it felt like his home. All of that life had just vanished as if it had never been, just as Kallian's had.

He didn't hear her approach until she said his name; then he turned and looked at her for a long moment as though he wasn't sure who she was and didn't have the energy to find out. Eventually, recognition dawned on his face. "You're alive!" he cried in a broken voice, then stepped forward to enfold her in a crushing hug.

Kallian fought down some panic at being caught up in the embrace; the human was huge and his grip was strong. She managed not to struggle, but it was some time before she could relax enough to pat his shoulder. Eventually, Alistair noticed her discomfort and released her. "Sorry," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. "It's just - I was sure you weren't going to make it."

Kallian suspected his relief had less to do with her personally and more with not being left entirely alone. But that made sense; she wasn't sure what she would have done herself if she'd woken as the only Grey Warden in Ferelden. At least they had one another.

Nonetheless, it was quickly apparent that he was in no state to look ahead right at the moment. When Flemeth appeared, Kallian asked for the story of their rescue, explored the idea of using the Warden treaties to make allies to fight with them against the Blight, agreed to bring Morrigan along and did her best to make the prickly woman feel welcome. Alistair interjected only occasionally and seemed content to let her direct the conversation. Kallian smiled grimly to herself; it seemed humans and elves were not so different after all. In the alienage, it was always the women who took charge in times of crisis. She'd need his help later when it came to talking with their allies, but for the immediate problems of dealing with Morrigan and getting out of the swamp, she was content to take charge.

Morrigan had offered to guide them to the nearest town where they could pick up supplies and news. With hardly a goodbye from Flemeth, off they went. The swamp made for slow travel; there were no roads, at least not that Morrigan showed them, and they had to pick their way carefully. Their shoes grew heavy and slick with mud, and the air was full of buzzing insects, which swooped and stung. Morrigan was unused to company, and seemed irritated that Kallian and Alistair were much slower at navigating the wetlands than she. Sometimes she would flounce ahead, leaving Kallian to try to follow the witch's tracks in the mud, Alistair trailing listlessly behind.

Morrigan was strange, even for a human, but Kallian found herself more comfortable because of it. Her lack of civility took the burden of manners off Kallian as well, and once Morrigan decided they were far enough away from the darkspawn hoard to make it safe to speak, Kallian asked the witch about her life in the wilds and her experiences as a shapeshifter. Morrigan seemed gratified by her interest, and her manner slowly thawed. Alistair followed silently along behind them, alternately scowling at the witch and lost in his own thoughts.

Once they were out of the worst of the swamp and settled into a dry track that allowed them to travel side by side, things got worse. Morrigan and Alistair had taken an instant and virulent dislike to one another back at the cottage, and now that less concentration was required to find their way, they began to snipe at one another. Morrigan's magic was part of the problem; Alistair had claimed back at Ostegar that he'd never wanted to be a Templar, but all the same he seemed to have been well indoctrinated with Chantry beliefs about uncontrolled mages. In all honesty, Kallian thought that they would have fought regardless; their personalities were entirely opposite. Morrigan was a cat, she decided, aloof and disdainful until she wanted something, when she became irritatingly persistent. Alistair was more like a clumsy marbrai puppy, all feet and anxiety to please and sad eyes. The loss of the Wardens amplified these qualities about him, changing the chatty young man she'd met at Ostegar into an unhappy child.

The more he glared at Morrigan, the more the witch mocked and picked at him, until Kallian wanted to snap at both of them. Several times she did. But it only provided a temporary halt to hostilities, and meant that all three of them ended up angry and silent.

When the mabari she'd helped cure at Ostegar found them, it was frankly a relief; even if he did have a band of darkspawn at his heels. She didn't know if Morrigan had fought against darkspawn before, but the witch didn't shrink back. She used debilitating spells to weaken and confuse, and cold spells to slow the darkspawn while Kallian, Alistair, and the dog hacked or clawed away at them.

Kallian's own fighting skills had improved since leaving the alienage, there was no question about that. She also thought she might be beginning to experience the effects of the taint; she felt stronger and faster. But maybe that was just the practice?

She wiped her sword on the leggings of the dead darkspawn Alpha, trying to wipe it clean. It was hard to clean a surface with rags that filthy, and eventually she decided it would have to be good enough and slid the blade back into its sheath. There was a slight whine from behind her.

"How you doing, buddy?" she said, going down on one knee before the dog. "Did they hurt you?"

The dog barked, and jumped around in a circle.

"I guess not," she said, smiling. "You bounce like one of those jackrabbits we saw in the Wilds. Except bigger. Much bigger."

He barked again.

She looked up to the warrior, slightly perplexed. "It's like he understands what I'm saying."

"He probably does," Alistair replied. "They say mabari are clever enough to speak, but wise enough to know not to. Looks like you've made a friend. They imprint on a single master, you know - he's chosen you, I think."

"Does this mean we are going to have this mangy beast follow us around? Wonderful," drawled the mage.

"He's not mangy!" Alistair protested.

Kallian only laughed, scratching the dog's ear one last time before pushing to her feet. "Let's get moving; we're burning daylight. C'mon, Rabbit."

The dog trotted obediently beside her as she started down the road.

"You're not seriously going to name a mabari warhound Rabbit, are you?" Alistair asked.

"Why not?" she replied. "He doesn't seem to mind – do you boy?"

Rabbit gave an enthusiastic bark.


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright, you've won! We surrender!" growled the captain. Logain's men stationed in Lothering had spent too much of their time in the tavern drinking instead of searching for the Wardens as they'd been ordered. Slowed by the ale they'd consumed, they were quickly beaten. Kallian thought she might have been able to take them down alone if she'd had to.

At the captain's surrender, Alistair, the interfering Chantry sister, and even Morrigan had pulled back, but Kallian only paused for a moment. She shifted her grip on her sword and then pushed forward again. She was having a _terrible _week, and she'd been called traitor and knife ear too many times today.

She felt a hand on her arm, and glanced back, lip curled, to see the Chantry sister looking at her. If she had said anything, or looked judgmental, Kallian might have turned on her - but she didn't. She simply stood, one hand on Kallian's shoulder, her expression almost kind. Kallian shook her hand off roughly, but lowered her sword.

"Take a message to Logain," she snarled to the soldier whose throat she had almost slashed out.

"Y-yes. What message?"

"Tell him that the Grey Wardens know what really happened at Ostegar."

He swallowed and nodded.

"Now get out." She gestured with her sword, and they fled.

Kallian took a few deep breaths, only realizing after a moment that the bar was completely packed with people, all of whom were staring. They were in for it now, if the crowd turned hostile. She fought the urge to flee, and instead met the bartender's eye. "Sorry about the mess."

Lothering didn't have much to offer in the way of supplies, and the news they picked up was disturbing on every count. The three of them - four, counting Rabbit - slouched in the shade of one of the ramshackle houses across the way from the tavern. The Chantry sister been determined to come with them; she'd run back to the dormitories to pick up her things. Short of ducking out of town before she got back, Kallian couldn't think of any way to ditch her.

"There's the Chantry board, I guess?" said Alistair eventually. "It looked like there were some postings up when we went by. We might be able to earn a bit of coin that way."

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"We do need money," Kallian said. "Everyone's moved up their prices, and we have to eat. Helping human refugees doesn't really appeal to me… but we aren't going to get very far without supplies. I suppose we don't have much of a choice."


	4. Chapter 4

"I can't believe you decided to bring the assassin." Alistair frowned. He had dragged her out to help gather wood for the fire, while the rest of the group set up camp. ""How do we know he's not plotting to poison us?"

"You eat Morrigan's cooking," she pointed out, "I didn't think you were that worried about poison." Alistair made a face. "I know you don't trust him. But beggars can't be choosers," she continued. "We need all the help we can get. Zevran is just a mercenary like any other."

"He's an assassin." Alistair broke a particularly long stick over his knee into firepit-sized chunks. "An assassin who was specifically hired to murder the two of us, in case you've forgotten."

"He's a mercenary that specializes in murder, then." She shrugged. "That's not so different from a regular mercenary, is it? Zevran's loyalty is to the highest bidder. Right now, we've promised not to kill him, which makes us the highest bidder." She poked around at the bushes, halfheartedly looking for twigs.

"But you don't know that," Alistair protested. "We only have his word for it. Is this an elf thing, or do you just have some kind of death wish?"

Kallian froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him brace himself for her retort. She sighed, ran a hand over her face, and decided she didn't have enough energy to be angry. The truth was - while she would never have admitted it, Alistair wasn't entirely wrong. Hired to kill her or not, Zevran was another elf; one who carried weapons as openly as she did, and wasn't a servant afraid to lift his eyes from the ground. Maker help her, he made her feel more _normal_. But that wasn't the reason she'd spared him, or at least... not the only reason. He'd provided them with useful information. He obviously knew how to use the daggers strapped to his back, given how close he'd come to hamstringing Sten before they'd brought him down. Apparently he was useless when it came to planning an ambush, but he was no coward. If he was as good at stealth and observation as he claimed, Zevran would be quite useful.

"Look, Alistair," she said finally. "We're not letting all these people join us for companionship, right? We're Gray Wardens. Ultimately our responsibility is to end the blight, through any means necessary. I know it sounds… rude, but think of them as tools for a moment."

Alistair dropped his branch on top of the others and looked at her, eyebrows slightly raised

"We don't bring along just anyone, right? They have to have a skill, a function. Sten is the easiest example. He's huge and he's good with a sword; he'll be able to take down darkspawn in a direct fight. We don't really know anything else about him. All we can do is make an assumption that he means what he says about wanting to atone for his actions and that he's not planning to have another psychotic murder episode."

"This is supposed to convince me of something?" Alistair muttered, stooping for another branch.

"We decided to bring Sten along for his fighting skills. You didn't argue when we rescued him from that cage in Lothering, remember?" She held up a hand to stop him breaking in again. "You have a kind heart, Alistair. It's… nice. It's not something I ever expected to see in a human. But it means that you're more ready to accept that Sten murdered and feels regret than you are that Zevran murders for a living and takes pride in his work."

Alistair straightened up from his growing woodpile. "Well, that's true, anyway."

She smiled. "I know it is." She stooped to pick up a scrawny stick and added it to the pile. Alistair was still looking dubious. She sighed. "Look. You don't know what it's like to live as an elf among humans any more than I know what it's like to live as a Qunari. I chose to help Sten out of need – but also out of compassion, in spite of the fact that I don't understand him. I'm asking you to accept Zevran on the same terms. You've heard a little about his past, and I got some more from him today. He was bought by the Crows when he was 7 years old. He never had a choice; he was little more than a slave." What elf wasn't? she added to herself. But she couldn't expect Alistair to understand that.

She had traveled with him long enough, though, to know that the best way to win an argument was by appealing to his better nature. "I know you've been through your own trials, and you have an idea of what it's like to be an outsider. Far more than I gave you credit for when we met."

He looked pleased and a bit embarrassed. She turned away to find another stick.

"Look at this with your head, not your heart," she said over her shoulder. "Zevran's chances of killing us with the whole group watching him are small; his chances of dying alongside us fighting darkspawn and bandits and who-knows-what-else is not." She picked up a likely-looking branch and came back towards Alistair's woodpile. "I'm not suggesting you let him share your bedroll, just that you give him a chance."

"No danger there! All right, I suppose. I'm going to keep my eye on him, though."

"Staying watchful is probably smart where all our companions are concerned. Except Rabbit," she added with a smile. "I'd trust that dog with anything, so long as I didn't mind it being slobbered on." She added her branch to the pile.

"Uh, actually," Alistair said.

"What?"

"That's not a good branch," he said, picking it up to show her. "The wood's still too green. It will do a smokey smouldery sort of thing instead of catching fire."

Kaillian made a face. "Have I ever mentioned that I hate nature? Give me the good wood and I'll take it back to camp. I'm useless at woodcraft but at least I make a decent pack animal."

"Right," he said, stacking logs onto her outstretched arms, "next we'll be strapping a saddle on your back so Rabbit can ride you into battle. There you are. I'll bring in some larger logs in a bit; I have some chopping to do first."

She lugged her armful of wood back to where the rest were setting up. Sten was digging out the firepit, with some help from the dog. Leliana was softly humming to herself while clearing the stones and twigs out of the flattest area of camp, prior to setting out the bedrolls. With everyone fleeing the blight, there had been no tents to be had in Lothering. Kallian hoped they'd have better luck in Redcliffe; sleeping in the open made her nervous. Tents were no protection against darkspawn, she knew, but even if you weren't uncomfortable about the wildlife watching you while you slept, there were insects to consider. And it would be nice to have at least the illusion of privacy.

Zevran and Morrigan were crouched together over her collection of dried herbs and arguing about flavors, of all things. Kallian half-set, half-dropped her load of wood next to Sten and watched them for a moment. Morrigan was treating Zevran to her usual mixture of disdain and cutting remarks, and he was reacting with the same unflappable cheerfulness he'd exhibited almost without intermission from the moment he'd regained consciousness. Finally the witch subsided with a shrug, evidently deciding she was not going to get a rise out of him. After a short pause, Zevran filled the silence with some description of Antivan cooking, and Morrigan actually seemed to be listening.

That was an impressive skill, Kaillian realized, and one she wished she possessed. Oh, she got along with Morrigan for the most part. But Zevran seemed to let everything – suspicion, snide remarks, debates over whether to kill him or not – slide right over him. She wondered suddenly what was really going on in his head. Maybe Alistair was right, and she had made a mistake. If the assassin had that much control… who knew how dangerous he really was?


	5. Chapter 5

By the light of the campfire, Alistair and Morrigan were arguing again. It had started about who ought to carry the plates to the creek to wash them, but Kallian had lost track of what they were yapping about by now. She was trying not to listen. Leliana was attempting to moderate, and Kallian wished her joy of it. She kept her eyes fixed on the armor she was cleaning, and felt rather than saw Zevran slip up beside her, crouching down to sit on his heels.

"So. I notice your fellow Warden has not yet come to cut off my head, so I am guessing your powers of persuasion worked in my favor, yes?"

She couldn't decide if she was amused or annoyed. Did he have to be so damned perceptive? She refused to look up, rubbing determinedly at the bloodstains on the mail shirt in her lap. "Are you always going to be like this? Because it's not too late for me to change my mind."

"If you mean charming and handsome, then yes, I am afraid I am always so. It is a terrible burden, alas."

She rolled her eyes. He was grinning at her, entirely unrepentant.

"I was more thinking 'sneaky' and 'too clever for your own good,'" she pointed out, "but if you want to call it 'charming' I suppose that's your business."

She turned the rag in her hands, looking for a clean corner. The mud and blood had caked between the links of mail, making the armor stiff and, well, smelly. What she really needed, she thought, was a stick that was small and pointed, but strong enough to break through the crud. Or something with grit, like sand. Or maybe she should suck it up and find some plate to wear; it'd be heavier but easier to clean.

The elf rested his elbows on his knees and continued to watch her, as though her work were fascinating. Apparently he wasn't going to be put off by rude replies or silence. The metal links clanked softly as she rubbed at them, the sound almost drowned out by the argument still raging on the other side of camp.

Eventually Kallian sighed and looked back up. "Don't you have something else to do?"

"When there is such beauty to admire?" he asked. "How could I possibly tear myself away?"

"Gaaah. Yes, _fine_, you can sleep tonight without worrying about having your head lopped off, if that's what you're asking. In fact," she added, "if you have any decent cleaning supplies in your pack, I'll even get Leliana to sing you a lullaby."

The assassin laughed. "I am sorry to disappoint you, my Warden, but I am not in the habit of wearing chain mail. It makes too much noise and is difficult to clean." He inspected her handiwork again. "I think what you really need is some sand."

Her reassurances that he could sleep tonight had come too soon, Kallian decided; she was going to kill him herself. "Then go find something constructive to do, and quit _looming _at me," she demanded.

Zevran winked at her and stood up. With a determined light in his eyes, he crossed the camp and picked up the offending dirty plates. He made a comment Kallian didn't quite catch which caused Alistair to blush and Morrigan to purse her lips thoughtfully, then turned and headed in the direction of the stream, effectively putting an end to their argument.

The resulting silence was the most beautiful thing Kallian had heard all day. Perhaps Zevran would be worth putting up with after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun slanted warmly through the branches of the oak trees, causing the drying grasses to give off a sweet scent. After an early start, Kallian and her companions walked briskly along the road to Redcliffe.

Alistair had refused to decide where to go next, saying he didn't know what the best thing was to do, and that he'd abide by whatever she decided. Never mind that he was the senior Warden, and that until two weeks ago Kallian had never been outside of the Denerim alienage. How was she supposed to know what to do? But they couldn't stay here camping a few miles from Lothering waiting for the darkspawn to overtake them; they had to get started.

Orzammar was a definite no, she decided. She'd seen dwarves in the Denerim market, but never spoken to one; and the underground was where the darkspawn came from. The archdemon was down there somewhere, singing the ominous and seductive song she heard in her dreams. Going there first... it would be too much. Hopefully she could get a better handle on her Warden blood before they had to go there.

Kallian knew precious little about the mages, but as they were travelling with an unrepentant apostate, tangling with the Templars seemed foolhardy in the extreme. They'd need to leave Morrigan behind somewhere, and while she didn't think Morrigan would wander off, she wasn't sure she trusted some of the other new members of their group enough just yet to venture off without the witch to cover her back.

Part of her had been tempted to start with the Dalish, but she'd talked herself out of it. They were somewhere in the forests to the east - no one knew where exactly - and she had a sneaking suspicion that the reclusive elves wouldn't exactly welcome their company. A blind hunt through the forest for an unwilling target wasn't a smart place to start; better to begin somewhere they could make measurable progress. That only left Redcliffe. She had no love for the human nobility, but at least Alistair knew the arl; that should get them through the door. It was better than starting out completely blind.

The weather was pleasant, and the sun shone brightly enough that it hid the evidence of the recent rains; the road was neither muddy nor dusty. The beauty of the morning seemed rub off on the party; everyone chatted as they walked.

Some more than others.

"Are you never silent?" growled Sten suddenly.

"I can be as silent as death should the occasion require," Zevran replied cheerfully. "But I admit that is not my preference. The day is fine, we are not in present danger, we have a long distance to walk - why should we not talk and pass the time pleasantly?" Zevran turned a winning smile on the qunari. Sten only sighed inaudibly.

"Speaking of silence, however," Zevran began again, "there was one contract I worked where I was hidden away in a packing crate and had to remain absolutely quiet for three days..."

Kallian laughed at the pained look on Sten's face. The clear morning and the cheerful chatter made her realize that it had been days since she'd felt this relaxed. In fact, the last time she'd laughed out loud may have been when Alistair made the crack about dancing the remigold at Ostegar, before they'd gone to the tower. Even then, her laughter had been largely the result of nerves.

She glanced over at the Warden walking beside her. He certainly wasn't joking now. Unlike the others, he'd been irritable all morning. Kallian wondered if she was imagining it, or if his mood had been growing increasingly sour the closer they got to Redcliffe.

"Are you worried about going back?" she asked him quietly.

"I... I'm worried about the arl. If he's really that sick..." he answered, not looking up from the ground before his feet. "But it's true," he continued after a moment, "I didn't exactly leave under happy circumstances."

A loud burst of laughter from Zevran and Leliana ahead of them finally made Alistair drag his gaze up from the dirt. His brows drew together, and he frowned.

"Kallian..." he rubbed his hands through his hair, and looked at her. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"I thought we were talking now?" she asked.

"I mean... away from the others."

She realized after a moment that he'd stopped moving. She turned to look back at him. "What's on your mind?"

He let the distance between them and the rest of the group widen before replying. "I need to tell you something I... uh, should probably have told you earlier." He looked embarrassed, even guilty.

"You look like you've been caught with your hand in the apple barrel," she answered dryly. "Better spit it out, then."

"Well. I told you before that my mother was a serving girl and the Arl took me in?"

She nodded impatiently.

"The reason he did that was because... well, because my father was King Maric," he continued.

Kallian's mind refused to take that in for a moment. Alistair was... he was the son of a king. A blight-ridden noble. Alistair, of all people. Her lip curled slightly.

He cringed a bit at her expression. "I would have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule, and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it, or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it."

He sounded bitter about that. She remembered how upset he'd been about being left behind, sent off to light the beacon instead of joining the other Wardens in the fight. She'd thought at the time he was anxious for glory, like... well, like the king. Who was his brother, apparently, so maybe that made sense.

She rubbed her forehead, trying to help it sink in.

"Kallian." Alistair fidgeted. "I didn't want you to know as long as possible. I'm sorry. People... treat me differently, when they know. I wanted you to like me for myself."

Kallian sighed. "I do like you, Alistair." He was right, though. It did change her perception of him. Maybe that was unfair. She squinted ahead to their companions, almost out of sight around a bend in the road. Leliana was looking back at them; her curiosity was palpable even at this distance. "We shouldn't get too far behind the others," she said, and resumed walking.

"My blood has never been important to me," he tried to explain, his long legs allowing him to catch up to her easily. "I've spent my life trying to forget about it and being told I would never sit on the throne."

She looked at him sharply. The king was dead, and Alistair was his brother. Calian had left no heirs, and his wife was common born. She was hardly versed in Ferelden politics, but it seemed to her that someone might actually want make Alistair king under the circumstances. Grey Warden or no, if he had the blood...

He seemed to understand her expression, and waved his hands as if to push the idea away. "No. No, no no. I don't _want _it. If there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Calian's uncle, and more importantly very popular with the people. Though... if he's really as sick as we've heard... no, I don't want to think about that. I really don't."

They trudged in silence for a moment. "Can we just move on?" he asked eventually. "And I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

She rolled her eyes. "If you can call that lucky. Some days I have my doubts." She picked up the pace. "Come on, let's catch up to the others."

She waved off Leliana's questions when she caught them back up, encouraging Zevran to continue his story. There was no need for the rest of them to know just yet; if Alistair's parentage turned out to be a problem they'd find out soon enough. She tried to laugh with the others and recapture some of the cheer of the morning, but the mood was spoiled for her.

Alistair was the closest thing she had to a friend in this new life, and now it turned out he was one of _them_. One of that class who thought everyone lived to serve them, to follow their orders and cater to their whims. She knew that Alistair had never acted that way in her presence; she knew that his time in the Chantry and as an outsider had given him a humility and a perspective that other shem nobles lacked. He was kind and a good person, and he reminded her of Soris more than she wanted to admit.

And it wasn't like he'd lied to her, exactly. When he'd told her he was the bastard son of a serving woman who had died when he was born, she'd made an assumption that he didn't know who his father was. It was a common enough story. She'd been cagey at best with her own history; pushing him to share more of his than he'd wanted to had been the last thing on her mind.

But she hadn't realized it would have a bearing on their mission. Or that she was fighting and joking and laying her bedroll beside the potential king of Ferelden. It was a bit too much for one inexperienced city elf to digest.


	7. Chapter 7

Kallian lay in her tent, her rapidly cycling thoughts keeping her awake. At least she had a tent; the merchants of Redcliffe had been generous once they'd turned back the undead attack, and now each of them had their own. The privacy was a relief after the nights of lying all together in the open. But even privacy didn't help her relax enough to sleep.

She kept hearing Alistair's bitter reproach in her head. Maker knew she hadn't wanted Eamon's son to die, but she'd always been taught abominations were irredeemable. When a mage became an abomination, you killed them – or they killed you. Half the people in the village had already paid the price of Isolde's inability to face that fact. When Tegan had recovered, he'd made one passing reference to the fact that the Circle might have known better what to do – but otherwise no one had said anything to suggest there had been another option. It was sad that Connor was only a child, but that didn't change what she'd been taught, or what the boy's bargain with a demon had destroyed. The whole stupid mess was Isolde's fault for trying to hide the fact that her son was a mage. All Kallian had done was show up on the scene and try to clean up the mess… yet now Alistair was trying to tell Kallian that _she_ was the monster.

It was pointless to keep thinking about it, she told herself firmly. It was finished. Alistair would get over it eventually. Or not. Regardless, Tegan and Isolde had taken the opportunity to guilt her into making a stupid promise to find an impossible relic to try to cure the arl. She wondered how Duncan would have handled the situation, and if he would have approved of her actions. She suspected not.

Her companions were divided on the subject. Sten had been glowering at her ever since he'd found out. Morrigan had raised her eyebrows and drawled that she was sure the darkspawn would be happy to wait upon their leisure. Leliana was excited to pursue the ashes of the blessed Andraste. Alistair was upset and anxious, fearing both what would happen if the arl weren't cured _and_ if he were; knowing that chasing after legends was unlikely to help them fight the darkspawn but feeling the need to help his foster father. Refreshingly, Zevran seemed not to care one way or the other.

She'd spent a fair bit of the afternoon's walk away from Redcliffe talking with Zevran, trying to get the assassin's measure; it had been a good excuse to avoid Alistair's frowns. She hadn't had much success, however; mostly she'd just become convinced that no one could possibly be as unrelentingly cheerful as he seemed. It made him a pleasant companion for the road, but she wondered what was really going on in his mind. The only time she'd seen him lose that mask at all had been in speaking of Antiva; he had chatted on for a while in his usual style about the sights and smells of his home, then abruptly trailed off. After a moment, he said talking about home made him feel homesick and hungry, and changed the subject. That was as close to a break in his armor as she'd been able to get.

She'd figure him out in time, she told herself. Or he'd murder them all while they slept. In the latter case, she wouldn't have to worry about stopping the blight anymore, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She firmly told herself that she needed to stop running her brain over the same problems over and over and get some sleep. She rolled over onto her back, stared at the ceiling of her tent, and began counting her breaths. She almost reached 500 before she forgot to count, and finally fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Leliana had been the one to ambush her. She probably hadn't even done it on purpose; though it was hard to tell with the bard. Kallian had a feeling that Leliana's kind voice and innocent wide eyes let her get away with all kinds of things that would be considered rude if anyone else attempted them.

They were on the road again. Kallian had sent Zevran and Alistair to scout ahead; she wasn't in the mood to deal with either of them. Let Zevran's false cheerfulness grate on Alistair and his all-too-real sulking, and get them both away from her. The group was en route to Denerim with the goal of trying to find Brother Genetivi. Far more important to Kallian was her secret hope that she'd be able to sneak away for a bit to see her father and friends. She was wondering for the thousandth time what her father would say when the bard interrupted her thoughts to ask a question.

"I am wondering, Kali, do you..." The rest of it was lost in the rushing of Kallian's ears.

Shannai had been Anni for as long as Kallian could remember, and she'd been Kali to her cousins. Soris had even gone by Ris for a brief period when he felt left out; while he'd later rejected it as a 'silly kid's name', he never stopped calling the girls Anni and Kali. As they got older, most people fell out of the habit, but between the three of them, it never changed. Hearing that name took her right back - for a moment, she could have been ten again, teaching Anni and Soris how to hold sticks as if they were proper daggers and staging mock-battles in the dusty back alleys of the alienage.

Kallian blinked, and found herself looking into the concerned blue eyes of the bard.

"Are you all right? I haven't offended you, have I?"

"No," she said, trying to keep her voice level; but a traitorous tear splashed down her cheek.

"Oh, but I have!" cried the bard. "Or at least made you unhappy. I'm so sorry!" Leliana wrapped her arms around Kallian in a fierce hug.

Other than Alistair's awkward and uncomfortable embrace back in the Wilds, no one had so much as shaken Kallian's hand since her wedding day. Another tear slid down the side of her nose.

Leliana kept one arm around Kallian's shoulders as they resumed walking, holding her close. "Is it something you can tell me?" she asked gently.

Kallian hesitated for a moment, then slid her arm out from between them and gingerly wrapped it around Leliana's waist. They walked in silence for a moment, Kallian looking at her feet and struggling for control. She'd been caught like a leaf in the wind since she'd left home; Leliana's kindness, on top of her memories, on top of Alistair's sulking, on top of the horrors of fighting the undead in Redcliffe village, on top of a child's murder... it was all more than she could keep tucked away behind a stoic facade.

On the other hand… she didn't want to badmouth Alistair in front of the others. When she'd been dumped in the leader's position, the only experience she'd had to call on was growing up under the guidance of her _hahren,_ Valendrian. Her ears still burned from the lectures he'd given her as a child. Elves had to work together; the only defense against human oppression was a united front. So as much as she'd like to complain about Alistair's behavior, she had to remember that they were the Gray Wardens. If something happened to her, Alistair would have to lead. He might not be helping her keep a united front, but she ought to do her best to minimize their conflict in front of the rest of them.

"It's nothing," she said after a few minutes. "I haven't heard that nickname... in a long time. It makes me miss my family."

"Tell me about them," the bard coaxed.

So Kallian did. She talked about growing up in the alienage, about her friends and her father. She mostly managed to keep her tears under control. When she didn't, the bard politely pretended not to notice.

Leliana had an unfortunate observation or two to make about elves along the way, but Kallian found herself able to stay calm. She only pointed out to the bard that her kindly meant words revealed a significant amount of prejudice. Leliana took the criticism well, apologizing and promising to think it over, then quickly returning the conversation to Kallian's family.

When the terrain grew too rough to make walking with their arms around each other practical, Leliana took Kallian's hand in hers, patting her arm occasionally and continuing to ask questions. She stayed away from recent events that might upset the Warden, instead asking about her childhood; what sorts of things had her mother taught her, what kinds of games did they play in the alienage, did they have any special songs they liked to sing when they were all alone together? Since her Joining, Kallian had felt as though her family were worlds away. Talking about them made them feel real again. And soon she would see them.

"I feel... a lot better," she confessed eventually. "Thank you."

The bard smiled dreamily. "Words help sometimes; they ease the pressure on the soul. That is why confession is a gift from the Maker."

Kallian hid a smile. Leliana's faith sounded naïve to an elf who'd experienced the worldly prejudices of the clergy. But the bard meant well. "My faith isn't as strong as yours," she answered in a neutral voice, "But it's a nice idea." She walked in silence for another moment. "You can keep calling me Kali, if you want. It was just a shock, is all."

"And you may call me Leli," Leliana beamed.

From behind them, she heard the sound of Morrigan pretending to gag.

Kallian snorted. "Don't worry, Morrigan, I wouldn't dream of giving you a nickname," she called looking back at the witch.

Morrigan simply rolled her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks for the follows and reviews for Shards! I'm sorry updates have been pretty much non-existent. I have not forgotten this story, it's just that life and other writing have taken up a lot of my attention. But as a thank you, and in honor of Tabris week (at Dragon Age Fan Week), here is another chapter!_

* * *

A few more days' travel towards Denerim, and the group was starting to settle into a routine. At night when it was time to camp, everyone had a job – fetching water, building the fire, setting up the tents. The first priority was warming up the leftover stew which had been carefully wrapped in its cast iron pot the morning before – lid on, tied with twine, wrapped in cloth and tied again – and carried in the back of Alistair's pack during the day. By the time they were finished setting up tents and seeing to their armor and weapons, the stew was warm and everyone was able to take a plate to a spot around the fire.

This evening, Kallian was on wash duty, and took the plates down to the nearby creek for rinsing. There was moonlight to work by, so she'd not bothered to bring a torch. She scrubbed mostly by feel, lost in thought, and almost dropped the last dish entirely when a voice rose out of the bushes on the opposite bank.

"My dear Warden, you look… concerned."

After a moment, Kallian started to breathe again. "Maker's balls, Zevran. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Don't _do _that."

"Do what?" She saw a pale flash of teeth as he grinned, then his shadow separated from the shrubbery as he began to pick his way across the creek.

Once her heart rate slowed back to something approximating normal, she went back to washing her plate. "I'm not concerned," she said irritably, "just thinking." She gave the dish a final rinse, and straightened. She started to ask why he was out wandering around in the bushes, but he cut in smoothly before she could form the words.

"And these thoughts come from the chat you were having with our lovely bard on the road today?" He made a final leap towards the bank, landing with hardly a sound. "The two of you have been nearly inseparable. I am terribly envious."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't think I don't notice how you do that."

"How I do what?" he asked, but she noticed he turned slightly away from the moon, leaving his face in shadow.

"_My_ Warden, _our_ bard… it's a bit heavy-handed isn't it?" she asked. "You're taking ownership, reinforcing that you belong here, aren't you?" Zevran remained still as she stacked the plates, slid them into a clean carrying sack, and stood up. "I don't have any intention of getting rid of you," she told him. "I just don't like being manipulated."

He turned slightly so she could see his smile. "I would have thought Leliana with her love of words would be the first to comment on that. You are indeed extraordinary, Warden."

She fought the urge to tell him to call her Kallian already - all his "Warden this" and "Warden that" was driving her crazy. He was probably fishing for just that reaction, though, so instead she gave him a skeptical "Hmph," and started making her way back to camp.

"Part of it is translation," he continued, following her. "You must understand, in Antiva it is quite common to refer to people in this way. For the other part…" he gave a graceful sweep of the hand as he caught up to her, "can you blame me? Some of our party clearly wish I were not present."

Kallian couldn't deny that.

"Morrigan's dislike is, I think, impartial," he observed. "She does not seem to like anyone, except for yourself, of course. With Sten it is much the same. Leliana, on the other hand, has been most kind." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "That was at your suggestion, was it not?"

Kallian suppressed a curse. She would have sworn no one else knew about that; she hadn't even told Alistair that she'd asked Leli to keep a close eye on Zevran the day after he'd joined them - she'd been nervous bringing the assassin into Redcliffe. And she'd thought the bard had been fairly subtle about keeping Zevran in her company while the rest of them went up to the castle.

Kallian stopped a little ways outside the ring of firelight where their companions sat talking, and turned to face Zevran. His smile was as pleasantly neutral as always, the dancing shadows of the campfire obscuring the expression in his eyes.

"Now you are starting to scare me," she admitted.

"There is no need for fear, I assure you, my dear Warden. I have given you my oath, have I not?"

Kallian was unconvinced that Zevran's oath had been any more substantial than the air he'd used to speak it. She decided there wasn't much sense in pointing that out.

"I am observant only out of habit," he continued soothingly. Then in a lower voice, he added, "Speaking of our bard – if it is not speculation about me which makes you look so from her conversation, what might it be?"

"None of your business," Kallian replied shortly. But then she paused; if anyone could answer her question, it would probably be Zevran. The two rogues were undoubtedly the most worldly among the group. She pinched the bridge of her nose. He was certainly nosy, but was he a gossip or would he keep it to himself? She didn't want to upset Leli, but… There was really only one way to find out.

"Fine," she said, turning her back to the fire, and speaking even more softly so that no one else would hear. "I might have made an ass of myself, but I'm not sure. Leliana kept going on about how much she liked me, how close we were, how pretty my _hair_ was. I like her, but we've only known each other for two weeks. It seemed… odd."

Zevran's lips twitched as though he were trying to suppress a smile.

"I told her I liked her but didn't feel that way about women, and she denied ever having meant anything… like _that_. I was so certain she'd been hinting… I apologized, of course. Maybe I was wrong?" She looked to the assassin, whose eyes were dancing with laughter.

"I do not think you were wrong, _bella_. When you so kindly spared my life and let me join you in your travels, I quickly realized I was not the only one watching you with admiration."

Kallian frowned but let the comment slide. She was fairly certain that Zevran's admiration was mostly a matter of convenience. She felt slightly uneasy to realize that his flirting didn't really bother her, given how strongly she had disliked Davan. But Zevran wasn't a shemlen, and he flattered to her face instead of leering at her backside. He was clearly only trying to ingratiate himself so that she'd help protect him from the Crows. And obviously they were travelling together and needed to get along. And she should _listen _to what he was saying about Leliana, not get off on a mental tangent over whether he was really attracted to her or not.

"But to be honest," the assassin was saying, "I do not think you have anything to worry about. It is likely she was only testing the waters. When one has an enjoyment for others of one's own sex, there can be complications. Not everyone welcomes such attentions, no? So. You give a compliment, you express admiration, and you wait and see how the other reacts. I believe if you had told our bard that you valued her _friendship_, there would have been no awkwardness and nothing further said on the matter. You see how this works? It is a kind of secret code to use when you do not wish to offend."

Kallian nodded, and started to turn back toward the fire. Then she stopped and raised an eyebrow at Zevran. "So… when you openly proposition Alistair, you are trying to offend him?"

Zevran grinned. "I am only trying to expand his horizons. Who could be offended by one such as I?"


End file.
